


First Night

by butterflyslinky



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Gen, Pre-Slash, mentioned death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 05:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7921723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflyslinky/pseuds/butterflyslinky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James always has to live through the first night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Night

The first night is always the worst. The tears, the alcohol, the endless cigarettes. Probably more than one pack tonight, all things considered.

And Robbie has to stay through it all. He has to keep an eye on him. Because he knows, even if it’s never been said, that if James is going to fall off the edge, it will be tonight. The first night. So Robbie has to stay to make sure James doesn’t fall.

If James can make it through the first night, he’ll be fine. If James can make it through the first night, he’ll be able to go on until the next first night.

It’s Monday, barely eight o’clock but they’re both already knackered. It’s been a very long day at work, a new case on their hands. Another murder. Of course it’s another bloody murder. Sometimes Robbie thinks that his entire life is destined to be made up of nothing but murder and death.

And James always reacts the same way. Calm and cool and professional in the field, in the office, in public where others can see him. But when they get home and it’s just James and Robbie…that’s when he falls apart. Beer or wine or sometimes whiskey, sipped in between cigarettes. Something to take the away the stress of a new case, another lost life. James never likes it, but he does it anyway. Robbie admires him for it, most of the time.

Except for the first night, because there’s always another first night.

And Robbie stays with him. Well, he doesn’t have much choice now that they’re sharing a flat, but he could walk away. Go to a hotel for the night, or lock himself in the bedroom until James either finishes being stressed or drinks himself to death. It isn’t—it shouldn’t be Robbie’s problem to deal with.

But it is, because while they’ve never said any words about their…relationship…Robbie has already sworn to care for James, just as James has promised to care for Robbie. And if that means sitting up until the wee hours of the morning to ensure James doesn’t take himself into an early grave, well, Robbie can handle that. It’s Robbie’s problem for the next eight hours or whenever James passes out, whichever comes first.

Tonight is worse than normal, though. Dead kid, little boy barely ten years old. Kids are always the worst to deal with, especially when they die by violence. Should be an easy case, really—Robbie already has the files on all the kid’s immediate relatives and it’s just a matter of determining who had the boy at the time of death—everyone’s story conflicts. But even so…

James swallows the whiskey faster than Robbie ever could. Robbie wonders for a moment how James doesn’t catch fire, because surely it must burn, whiskey and cigarettes in equal measure. Then Robbie reflects that he’s a little bit drunk himself because Christ, he did not need to see a little boy murdered today. But he can’t be as drunk as he’d like, because he has to look after James.

The first hour is silent, just them sitting and drinking. The second hour, Robbie can’t take the quiet anymore and puts on the telly. The sounds of some movie fill the empty flat, though Robbie isn’t listening. He’s watching James, keeping an eye on him to make sure he’s not going to die. The movie ends in the middle of the fourth hour. James grabs the remote clumsily and manages to turn the telly off, leaving them in dark and quiet again.

Robbie gets up and finds food, just snacks to absorb some of the alcohol, but it’s something to occupy him. James doesn’t notice except to forego actually pouring the whiskey and just drinking from the bottle.

It’s nearly three in the morning and James shows no signs of stopping this ritual. The whiskey bottle is half-empty and he’s been through a pack and a half of cigarettes. He’s not crying, but Robbie thinks he might start soon. He isn’t sure he’s ready to handle that.

They just need to make it through the night. Just one night. Tomorrow morning they’ll be all right. Tomorrow they’ll go back to being normal police officers just solving a case. Detached. Impersonal. Professional.

And if that means James is a mess tonight, well, Robbie can handle that.

They haven’t spoken for hours when James finally calls out, “Robbie?”

“I’m here, James.”                                                                                                     

“It’s awful.”

“I know.” He pats James’s hand. “I know it’s terrible. But we’ll get through it.”

“I think…” James breaks off, choking back a sob. “I’ve seen more dead students in the last ten years than anyone should and I always thought they were too young. Children, all of them. But now…” He’s trembling violently now. “He was a baby.”

“I know, James.”

James puts down the whiskey bottle, cigarette long extinguished. He curls over into himself and starts to cry, loud, wracking sobs and shake Robbie to the very core. And he can’t deal with it, he’s already upset himself, but he has to take care of James. Has to.

So he wraps his arms around his former sergeant, pulls him into his chest and lets him cry. And cry James does, the alcohol and tobacco bringing down any inhibitions he might have had about being so vulnerable in front of anyone, let alone Robbie. Except he can be vulnerable with Robbie now, even if it’s still unspoken, still untouched. They’ve known for the longest time, but it’s never been the right moment to say it.

And God knows this isn’t anywhere close to the right moment. They’ve got a tiny body in the morgue, a dozen adults to question in the morning, and right now James is sobbing his eyes out on Robbie’s t-shirt. There has never been a less right time to talk about it than right now.

So Robbie clutches James close, runs his hand through the dandelion-fluff hair, lets James cry on him. It’s the least he can do. It’s all he can do.

It’s probably only a few minutes, but it feels like an hour before James finally runs out of tears. But even when he’s quiet and still, he stays curled into Robbie, hugging him around the middle with his face buried in Robbie’s chest. Robbie doesn’t mind. This is the closest they’ll ever get to talking about it. To doing something about it.

“I’m sorry,” James mumbles after a while, though he makes no move to get off of Robbie.

“It’s all right,” Robbie says. He keeps petting James, ruffling his hair.

Eventually James falls asleep, lying on Robbie, practically in his lap. Robbie doesn’t move except to lean back a bit, taking James with him until they’re mildly comfortable. Robbie leans against the arm of the couch with James draped over him. He wraps an arm around James’s shoulders and leans over to press a light kiss on the top of his head.

The sun isn’t coming up yet, but Robbie can see the vague light before dawn through the window. He glances at the watch shining on James’s shoulder.

Four o’clock. James is alive.

The first night is over.


End file.
